The steps groaned beneath Andrew's boots, old stone worn smooth by centuries of secrets and footsteps that were never meant to return. Behind him, Marrow's sword dragged lightly against the ground with a soft screech, more like a warning than a sound. The remaining four shadows followed without question—silent, precise, inhuman.
The deeper they went, the more the cathedral faded into something older.
The staircase spiraled down, narrower and colder with each descent, lit only by a sickly green bioluminescence that seemed to pulse in time with the low, echoing drumbeat. It wasn't a real drum (Andrew could tell now), it was a heartbeat. Deep. Slow. Alive.
His voice broke the silence. "Okay. Ground rules. No jumping out at me from the walls. No possessed statues. And if anything whispers my name, we burn the whole place down."
Nothing answered. Not even Marrow.
